


that i may rise

by sevdrag (seventhe)



Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Punisher (Comics), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Altar Sex, Blasphemy, Church Sex, Confessional, Confessional Sex, M/M, Running From The Cops, Sanctuary, givefranktheD2021, seriously they fuck in a church
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28541625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/pseuds/sevdrag
Summary: Frank and Matt, out for nothing more harmful than pizza and beer, end up taking accidental sanctuary to hide from the cops. It might awaken something in both of them.“That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend / Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.” (Divine Meditations 14; John Donne)
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88
Collections: DDE’s 2021 New Year’s Day Exchange





	that i may rise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheCarelessVoice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCarelessVoice/gifts).



> Here's my pinch hit gift for DDE -- I hope you enjoy it! I lined it up with the 12 Days of Blasphemy prompt listed above, because I just really liked the way they overlapped. This was incredibly fun to write -- more than I even expected! Thanks to the murder husband feathers_and_cigarettes for helping me shape this into what it ended up being.

It’s the crisp kind of cold night, where it hurts to breathe when you’re runnin’, and they’ve been runnin’ alright. Frank hadn’t intended to be out at all - he’d been looking forward to a night home, fresh pizza and a movie, sweatpants and blowjobs as usual - but then on the way to get the pizza they’d stopped in for a quick drink at the corner, and then Matt had been his usual self, and the guys at the bar had been _their_ usual selves, and now Frank’s seen three too many broken kneecaps for the evening and they’re on the run from the cops cause fuckin’ Murdock didn’t bring his mask.

“Shit,” says Frank, and while he isn’t pulling Murdock behind him physically, he’s certainly leadin’ him on this chase. “This way.” He knows he doesn’t need to say it, but Frank wants to say it, cause it makes him feel like they’re more of a team. There’s an alley they may be able to duck into before the cops come around the corner, and if they’re real lucky, there’ll be a door to somewhere else.

They hit the shadows and freeze, both of them pressed into the wall, not daring to breathe as they wait for the cops to pass, blaring bright lights and all. Frank isn’t sure when they all upgraded to those blinding blue LEDs or whatever the fuck, but he feels like they’re a bigger danger than speeding. Can’t see shit with those bright ass lights in your face. It’s a relief when they pass and he ain’t even looking out at the road.

But the cops’ll be back on a second round, so Frank starts looking around, and they _are_ lucky: there’s a door. It’s wood, heavy, carved in a nice old-fashioned style Frank’s used to seeing in fancier buildings, all curlicues and flower petals. And to his surprise, it’s open. That gives him pause, for a second, but they’re not running cause they can’t fight. Anybody in here lookin’ to start something’s gonna be real surprised to find the Punisher and Daredevil in their faces.

He holds the door until Murdock can grab it, and then takes a few steps inside. It’s honestly only a few paces until Frank recognizes where they are, and he can hear Matt’s inhale as he figures it out as well. 

“A church?”

Frank can’t help the laugh that comes out, low and surprised. “Yeah, Red. Let’s claim sanctuary.”

Matt makes a very complicated kind of noise and Frank isn’t quite sure what it means, but he likes the feel of it. “Not sure there’s sanctuary for people like us.”

“Heh. Ain’t that the whole message of the Bible, Red? Confess your sins, be forgiven? Come under the protection of the Lord?”

Matt’s frowning now, and Frank wonders whether he crossed a line. Where he’s going to. It isn’t that he wants to make Matt uncomfortable, but he certainly does like making Matt squirm. It’s a part of their game, and Frank knows enough about church to play on this particular chessboard.

“Frank,” Matt says. It’s a warning, but it’s also an invitation; Matt’s curious enough to play. “We’re just dodging the cops. We aren’t here for anything else.”

“Could be,” Frank says, laughing. He continues, into the vestibule, searching out the chapel. “What’s a little forgiveness with our pizza on a Friday night?”

“We don’t have the pizza,” Matt points out, following. It’s a good attempt to change the subject; it doesn’t work. Frank wants to know what parts of this are really getting to Murdock. It might tell him something he doesn’t know about Red.

“Look,” Frank says. “Confessionals. That’s a bit old-fashioned, yeah? Wanna go sit in one, tell me all your dirty secrets?” There’s a laugh in his voice as he says it, mostly a joke.

Murdock actually growls, and Frank feels it like a ripple over his skin and up his spine. The air inside smells like old wood, incense, and candles; he wonders what Matt can smell in here. He wonders whether Matt can smell the way Frank’s getting a bit turned on, stuck here in a church in the dark, with so many opportunities for something interesting to happen.

“Frank,” Matt says. His voice is dark, and hot, and Frank feels another wave of heat crawl up his spine. “Stop messing around.”

“D’you mean start messin’ around?” Frank chuckles. “C’mon, you can’t tell me you’ve felt like messing around in a church, Red.”

He hears Matt’s quick inhale, and that ain’t the kind of sound you make when you aren’t interested. “That’s pushing it, Frank,” he says, but his voice says otherwise. Frank’s had to learn real quick to read Matt in ways he’s never had to read anyone before; it’s just fair play, cause Matt can hear his heartbeat and his breathing and all kinds of things Frank never knew gave him away so bad. He’s studied Matt, and he’s no expert, but he’s at least above novice level.

“Huh,” Frank says. Yeah, they’re hidin’ from the cops, but cops aren’t gonna come through a church at this hour of the night. They’ve got the place to themselves, for sure. “Well, c’mere, Red, wanna come sit and listen to my confession?”

He isn’t sure whether Matt knows his nostrils flare at the suggestion, but then again, Matt’s so in control he probably picks and chooses every reaction. “Fine,” Matt says, and he’s stalking angrily over to the booths in a way that makes Frank very conscious of Matt’s bearing. It isn’t fair that being mad just makes Red _more_ hot. 

Frank follows him. Matt’s showing his familiarity with Catholic churches, now, the way he knows exactly where the booths are, the way he slides comfortably into one side. “Go on, then,” Matt says, utterly irritated, and Frank bites back a grin. Whenever he can get Matt to play along, it usually ends well for both of them.

He slides onto the bench on the other side. The matting between them is highly detailed, woven into a complex pattern with spaces just enough for air to pass; he can see the outlines of Murdock’s shape through them, but maybe wouldn’t be able to identify him if he didn’t know. Frank’s too familiar; he’d know Murdock’s silhouette anywhere, against any backdrop. 

“Forgive me, Father,” Frank starts, and Murdock’s quick indrawn hiss is surprising. “Father Murdock?” Frank asks, and the sharp breath Matt takes at _that_ is a bit overwhelming.

“Shit,” says Matt, his voice strung out between his teeth. “Castle…”

“Yeah, forgive me, cause I got a goddamn list of sins I’m gonna tell you about,” Frank says. He isn’t quite sure what’s loosening his tongue, but he can feel the tension between the two of them and he’s going to keep playing into that and see what happens. “See, I’ve got myself in a bit of trouble with another man, Father, an’ we’re up to all kinds of no good.”

Matt makes a choked-out sound that Frank’s never heard. It can’t be _this_ that’s unraveling his composure? “What’s on your mind, my — friend.” Frank’s fairly relieved he didn’t say _my child;_ that’s a bit too far, even for them. “Talk to me.”

That’s the ball in Frank’s court. He’s never done anything like this, but then again, he’s never done anything like Matt Murdock, either. “Well, if he was here in this church, I’m not quite sure what I’d do. Was hopin’ we were gonna head home and get naked, y’know. Not sure if I’d be able to wait, knowin’ he was here.”

He can hear Matt’s swallow. “This isn’t exactly appropriate discussion for the confessional,” he says, but what Frank hears is, _go on._

Frank swallows in response. “What’s appropriate, then? You need to hear how badly I want him, what I’d do to him right now?” He quietly swings open the door to his side of the confessional; he knows Murdock’ll hear it, but they’ll both pretend it isn’t happening. Just like they’ll both pretend Frank isn’t already half-hard from all this talk. 

“Tell me,” Matt says.

Frank stands up.

It’s only a few short steps around the confessional, and then he flings the door to Matt’s side open, and — he’s floored, momentarily, with the sight. Matt’s flushed high on his cheekbones and his pants are tight and his hand is clenched on the edge of the bench: sometimes Frank thinks Matt forgets that Frank can _see_ him, that Matt’s understanding of people is so tied up in the tiny details of heartbeat and scent and movement that he sometimes just overlooks the fact that Frank can see Matt’s cock hard and straining against the zipper of his nice black trousers. 

There’s no way Frank will fit in there, between Matt’s legs, but he falls heavily to his knees just outside the door, knowing Matt will hear the sound and recognize it. By Matt’s groan, and the way he shifts himself around so that he’s facing the door, Frank knows he guessed correctly.

“Well,” Frank breathes, running his hands up Matt’s thighs and then easily undoing the button at the top of Matt’s fly. “It’s kind of like this.” He lets his fingers drag slowly down, the knuckles of one hand trailing over Matt’s hard cock while the other pulls the zipper after it. “More or less.” It’s a terrible angle, but Frank’s never let that stop him, and he can feel how hot Matt is as he tucks his fingers into both pants and boxers and tugs them both down. Matt shifts on the bench and that’s all the proof Frank needs — Matt might like to argue, or theoretize, but he’s just as into this as Frank is. 

Frank bends into the confessional to lick up Matt’s dick; the noise Matt makes is like thirteen noises combined into one, like Matt’s trying to be _quiet_ in here, this church no one will find. 

“Shut up,” says Frank. “This is my confession, not yours.” And at that he sucks Matt’s dick into his mouth, shallow at first but taking more in, slowly, loving the way Matt makes noises above him as he does. This isn’t at all comfortable but that doesn’t matter — honestly, tonight, that’s part of the game, isn’t it?

“Your confession,” Matt breathes, and his voice is far more tense than Frank expected. “What, Castle, you here for absolution?”

Frank pulls off of Matt’s cock, sloppy, and says with more fight in his voice than he expected, “What’re you offering, Red?”

Somehow that gets him tugged up from the floor and slammed into the site of the confessional, with Matt’s mouth bruising his, as those hands press his hips into the wall, thumbs nearly grinding into the crease of Frank’s jeans. “Alright,” Matt mutters, dropping those dangerous lips down to Frank’s neck, then his collarbone, through his t-shirt. “How far are you going to push this?”

“How far can I get?” Frank asks, aware that this might be a dangerous answer but no longer even really caring. “What, you gonna fuck me up on the altar there?” He lets his hands run up Matt’s back, nails first, and feels the way Matt swallows the groan Frank wants to hear.

“Feel like you’d enjoy that,” Matt says, applying teeth to Frank’s earlobe.

“Feel like you’d enjoy it more,” Frank gasps back, and Matt bites down on the tender skin of his neck. “Go on,” Frank says, egging him on. “What’s the worst you can do?”

And somehow that’s how Frank gets marched up from the vestibule into the church proper, up the side aisle, one of Murdock’s strong hands tangled into his t-shirt at the back of his neck, the other splayed hard over Frank’s hip, pinky finger just dipping under the waistband of his jeans and thumb pressing tight into his back. Frank has no idea how Matt’s walking like this with his pants undone, but Murdock’s some kind of balancing wonder, and this isn’t even the third most unbelievable thing he’s done this last week.

Matt walks him up into the chapel, into the service area, drags him around the communion pews, and stops when he’s pressing Frank’s belly into the back of the altar. They’re both breathing hard, for a number of reasons; Matt’s hand tangles at the back of Frank’s neck, catching on his sweat-soaked hair, and he swallows the noise he wants to make. “Look,” Matt murmurs into his ear. “Look out at your congregation.”

Frank does, even though all the pews are empty, the stained-glass windows unlit, the candles and lamps all asleep. “What,” he manages to say. “You gonna teach them a lesson?”

“Maybe,” says Matt Murdock, and Frank breathes in harshly as Matt slams him up against the edge of the altar again. “What lesson do you need to be taught?”

It’s the kind of question Frank can play off as a part of this game, if he wants or needs to; it’s the kind of statement that lets Frank decide his level of involvement. Even now, if he were to try to shift around, change the way they’re arranged, he knows Matt would let him — he knows Matt has no interest in anything less than Frank’s full consent and, sometimes, compliance. He knows all he has to do is say the word, and they’ll take this back to the privacy of Matt’s apartment. He knows as enticing as this might feel, he needs to be all-in to this game; there’s no demand, no expectation.

Frank knows he wants to play this out as far as he’s given.

He can choose to shift in a million different directions that might give him advantage; some of them, if he’s quick enough, might even be enough to overpower Murdock, as long as he has the element of surprise. Instead, Frank leans forward, into it, resting his elbows on the altar and letting his back stretch out in its arc downwards. He’s well aware this pushes his ass up against Red; that’s the whole plan. “What,” he asks, aware that his voice is getting tight with arousal and expectation. “I can’t just stand here and watch?”

 _“Shit,”_ Matt hisses. His hand loosens at the back of Frank’s neck, then draws a slow path down Frank’s sweaty spine, fingertips digging in at every juncture. Frank bites his tongue and tries not to yell. Once Matt’s hand reaches the base of his spine it then trails back upwards - fingernails, this time - until it rests for one spare heartbeat at the base of Frank’s skull. “Are you asking for this, Castle?” Matt manages to draw out nearly every single _s_ sound, like he suddenly has a snake’s tongue, and Frank gave up on the church a long time ago so there’s no reason something so blasphemous should sound so ...attractive. 

Frank bites his own tongue and says nothing.

Matt’s broad hand moves up into Frank’s hair, cupping the base of his skull, and then suddenly his head is pressed downwards into the cloth over the altar beneath him. As it happens, Matts hips hitch against his, a motion sharply aborted, and Frank feels himself nearly flooded with arousal, suddenly wanting nothing other than Matt, inside him, _right here._

He turns so that Matt’s pressing his cheek into the soft clean fabric over the altar; that makes it easier to breathe. “Go on,” Frank taunts. “Do what you want.”

Matt’s entire body jerks. His hand tightens in Frank’s hair, and then suddenly his other hand is tugging at the waistband of Frank’s jeans, then running around to the front to deftly undo the button. “Last chance,” Murdock murmurs into his ear, and why does that genuine warning sound like such a threat, a tease, when Frank’s bent over here, in this deep and empty room?

“Shut up, Red.” Frank writhes under Matt’s hand, mostly so that Matt can shove his face harder into the clean polyester of the cloth beneath him. “Priest’s supposed to offer absolution, right?”

Matt freezes, both of his hands pinning Frank against the cool altar. There’s a split second Frank figures he’s gone too far with this, which is fine, he knows Murdock’ll forgive him eventually — but then Murdock’s hand shoves him harder into the wood of the altar, even as the other tugs down the zip of Frank’s jeans, slipping inside to palm at Frank’s cock in a way that makes him moan, too-loud and too-rough. Matt must like it, because within a few seconds both hands are tugging at Frank’s denims and his boxers together, and then they’re both yanked down and shoved until they rest around Frank’s ankles, everything from the waist down entirely bare to the chilled air inside the church.

Matt makes a huffing laugh-noise up against Frank’s shoulderblades as he bends over Frank; they’re pressed together from leg to hips to spine, but the altar wasn’t exactly made for this kind of angle and Frank’s kind of braced against it as much as he’s bent over it. Either way Matt’s hot hands wrap around his front, come up to pinch at both of Frank’s nipples; he keens. “You making an offering here, Castle?” Matt breathes into the back of his neck. “Is this penance?”

Frank has to swallow the noise he makes at that, far too needy, and he presses back against Matt in lieu of a response. “Go on.”

Matt freezes for one brief second, then both of his palms press Frank into position as he barks out “Hold!” against Frank’s skin. There isn’t another human on this planet Frank would obey, not with that command, and yet he sinks into it when it’s Matt’s suggestion. Frank’s well aware Matt has taken to stuffing condoms and packets of lube into his wallet these days, but there’s something about this situation that keeps Frank from connecting the dots until Matt’s there, pressing slick fingers up against his hole. The chill is an added edge; Frank feels like he’s earned that.

“Don’t,” he mutters at Matt, even as the slicked-up index finger slides inside him. Frank doesn’t want the careful stretching, the minutes of attention, the overwhelming care; he wants Matt to lube himself up and slide inside. “‘M okay,” he says into the fabric of the altar dressing. “J’st go slow.”

“You sure?” It’s funny how Matt Murdock is ready to break Frank apart in a hundred different ways - to fuck him up, destroy his boundaries, expand all the grey areas he wants to ignore - and yet Matt’s reluctant to ever hurt him unless Frank asks for it. 

“Please,” Frank breathes into the altar. “Nothin’ else. Just you.”

It’s weird because he can feel Matt’s eagerness and Matt’s reluctance at the same time. Frank’s never asked how many men Murdock’s had, and he feels like it’s maybe more than his own experience, and yet — Frank knows, even with limited data, exactly what he wants and exactly what he’ll take. What he wants right now isn’t delicate fingers stretching him; he wants to be taken, right here, and he wants Matt’s hands on him, making him realize and acknowledge what he’s doing, in front of this ghostly, empty crowd.

Matt must understand these things - or most of them, really - cause he shifts a bit. One hand ends up on the back of Frank’s hip, a thumb splayed out towards his spine and the rest of the grip wrapped in place around him. The other hand must be on Murdock’s cock as he brings it in, slick and dripping, and teases along Frank’s crack for a long moment before everything freezes and Matt shoves the tip of it inside.

Frank groans. He’s aware it’s low and long and utterly debauched but that’s how he’s felt every time this happens; this is even better - or worse? He isn’t sure which - with just the head of Matt’s delicious cock resting inside him. There are times he gets restless, times he’s full with want, times where he swears if he has to be stretched out with something he’d rather it be an actual cock than someone’s teasing fingers — and here he is, Matt Murdock making that a reality, and even though Matt’s taking it slow he’s also relentless to the point that Frank’s folded forward and groaning loudly as Matt’s dick bottoms out inside of him. 

Matt’s making noise, too, and as soon as Frank recovers his breathing he can hear the stain in Matt’s breaths, shallow and needy, and he realizes Matt has been waiting to move out of some weird embodiment of politeness, probably because Frank’s ass swallowed his cock with little prompting. Frank breathes in and it hurts so _good,_ fuck, someone behind him, just taking him without all the detailed worries and nuances and any of that, just a goddamn thick dick inside of him, and _shit._ Frank’s entire body shudders around it and he isn’t sure whether he should be bothered or glad that Matt can feel that; he decides on both, since his own awareness is spiraling off into pleasure. 

Frank presses his hips back, and he’s rewarded by the sharp intake of breath he hears behind him.

“Shit, look at this,” Murdock says, arching his hips just the slightest bit into Frank, and Frank’s breath catches in his lungs; “an offering, splayed out on the table of the Lord, before me, for my taking.” The words are strangely accented, mostly with a bit of a shudder in Red’s voice, and Frank ain’t gonna say how devastatingly hot he finds it until he absolutely has to.

“I urge you,” Matt starts, and his thick cock slides almost entirely out of Frank before shoving its way back inside. “Offer your bodies, as a living sacrifice-” this bit, as Matt bottoms out inside of him and drags Frank’s hips back onto him until Matt’s dick is grinding into his prostate, making Frank feel a little bit blind himself - “Holy and pleasing,” Matt continues, until it seems like Matt can’t really hold back any longer and his hips start pounding into Frank, every gesture that surprisingly slick filling of a void he doesn’t want to acknowledge, both of his hands parked on Frank’s shoulders to press him down over the altar.

“Go on,” Frank breathes, and he honestly had not expected _any of this_ to come out of their situation; he’d started out teasing Murdock, and then, this had escalated. Not that he’s gonna take a single ounce of this back, really: not the way Murdock’s hips are slamming into him; not the way Frank reaches across the altar so that he can hold onto the other edge for leverage, providing another anchor point that allows him to shit his hips up against Matt until Matt’s pounding into his sweet spot on every single thrust, breath already short, brief praises and curses falling from those lips. 

“Christ, Frank,” Matt breathes, and that’s the kind of thing he _never_ says. Even throughout all this time they’ve been working together, as enemies to strangers to fuckbuddies to friends to trusted associates, Matt has — he operates on a more limited palette than he does with the law, which prior to this encounter gave Frank some kind of understanding of Matt. One that Matt has, tonight alone, torn into a bunch of swollen, wanting pieces.

“Go on,” Frank urges. He’s too fucking close at the moment, all these realizations rushing forwards into his head and presenting him with the only conclusion worth looking at — but it’s one he doesn’t _want_ to see, not right now; not when he’s being fucked within a half-inch of his life by the best dick he’s found in New York, and all he wants is to come.

“You started this,” says Matt Murdock, but his voice is low and rough like concrete, and his hands on Frank’s hips are sharp like rebar, and when Matt starts slamming him into the altar and wraps a hand around to pull at Frank’s cock like he needs it, Frank can’t help the way his orgasm stutters low and deep and strong out of him, lasting full minutes, Matt’s fingers pumping every last bit he has out of his own dick at the same time Matt stills deep inside of him, coming, filling Frank up as if that isn't what he wanted from the very start.

It’s a long bit later when they move, and it ain’t because they want to. Frank sees the lights of cop cars flash, sharp enough that they break through the post-orgasmic laziness, and he can feel Matt grow stiff stretched over him, as they hear the short aborted whines of the sirens. He isn’t sure whether they’re there cause they found them, or if they’re just doin’ a sweep, but it suddenly doesn’t matter to Frank, all deliciously sore from Matt’s reaction. He doesn’t want to lose this to another clumsy cop investigation. As such, it’s a lot of smothered grunts and silent movements and a _lot_ of both of them checking the perimeter before they run out the back door, into a different alley, far enough from the senses of the police that they’re safe.

At the time, it doesn’t occur to Frank at all that they’re heading back to his place - Matt’s been welcome there for a while, and he has protections against normal police officers wanting to barge in - but then there’s his walls and his locks and the sense of knowing where his weapons are tucked, and he turns to Matt, surprised, because Matt doesn’t have _any_ advantage here, and he must know it.

“Well,” Matt says eventually, because he has to be able to read Frank’s question off of his face. It’s a very obvious question, given their situation. “I thought it was only fair to offer you a gesture of faith?”

Frank’s breath catches in his throat, and then he just starts laughing. It’s beautiful - Matt’s gorgeous - and yet it’s so fuckin’ _dumb_ he’s still laughing, even as his hand trails down Matt’s cheekbone and rests at the back of his neck. 

“Come to bed, Jesus, Red,” Frank says, and Matt’s face lights up in a terribly bright and satisfied smile, and Frank can’t actually help the way he grabs at Matt and tugs him down the hallway, down to where it’s safe and dark and soft and neither one of them has to worry. Not for now, anyway.


End file.
